Traumatic things
by Asrailefay
Summary: Post Lochlan And Neave. Sookie POV. One-shot. Trigger warning, some very dark thoughts.


I was broken.

I wanted to be a person. But that's not something I was anymore. I was a torn-up piece of human flesh. And I would never be whole again. I had done everything I could to survive, but now I wished I was dead.

Eric had felt everything, of that I was sure, and he still had not come to me. I called for him, screaming his name in my pain. And he had not come. I had been so sure of his love, before…before everything had happened. Now I couldn't trust any of that. How could he feel me, my torture, and not come? My world was upside down. And I was alone.

Lost in myself.

My thoughts, daydreams, sleep – all tormented me. I needed oblivion. Laying in a hospital bed. Hooked up to monitors. The constant beeping the only proof that some part of me still lived. My heart betrayed me by still beating. Because it was broken, just like I was.

And then, Eric. He showed up.

He was before me. I could not read the expression on his face. His eyes were dark, hooded. I wanted to believe he was angry at what had been done to me, but instead I thought he was angry at me for letting it happen. Letting my body be destroyed. A body I knew he appreciated. That I expected he would no longer look upon with the reverence that he had during his memory loss.

I could not even bring myself to be snarky, willful.

I was so ashamed, so torn up.

The fairies, Lochlan and Neave, had enjoyed me, tearing their teeth into me. Taking chunks of me out of myself. I was no longer whole, my personhood stripped from me. I was their thing, a plaything. A toy. Their pleasure had been my pain.

He had asked me to move over – Eric.

But I was in such pain that scooting over proved to be an impossible task. And he asked again, frustration in his voice, and still I could not acquiesce to his request. Tears slipped from my eyes. I was not the brave Sookie I had been before – now all I had was fear. And that fear was palpable.

I would never be loved again.

Not prone to self-pity previously, it seemed now to be the only reaction I had left. He grimaced at me, or at himself, I could not be sure. I wanted to think he would understand. He had shared his past with me, the hells that his maker, Appius Ocella, had inflicted upon him. I wanted to believe that he would draw the parallels between us.

He moved his arms under me and made room to be beside me. He tore at his wrist, presenting his bleeding wound to my mouth.

"Drink."

That was all he said. I could not stand the pain I was in, so I latched onto his wound, looking for some respite from the pain. His hand smoothed my hair, as if trying to show me some comfort. I drank greedily until his wound closed.

"Thank you." At least, I think that's what I said.

I think he asked to see my wounds. I nodded and he pulled back the blanket covering me, then the robe. I knew my flesh was riddled with wounds, bites. I wanted to be ashamed, but I wanted to die more. What he saw meant little. Those scars would never come. What would it matter if Eric saw them?

He didn't love me.

He had eternity to live, to forget his temporary infatuation with me. I assumed he wanted to see out of some sick curiosity – see what had finally broken the strong woman he once knew. It was the same when my parents died, or when I told people of my Uncle Bartlett's molestation. It was like they felt better, knowing that fate had not done to them what it had done to me. It was disgusting how they cared more about the particulars than how I had coped with it.

He growled at my wounds. And I didn't know how to take it. But I had my plan. I was going to end myself. Go into the shower and slice my wrists open with the water running. Oblivion would bring me my peace.

And then bloody tears fell from his eyes.

"This is my fault. All my fault."

What. The. Fuck. Eric had never, since his amnesia, shown so much emotion.

"I have failed you. Failed the only being I have ever loved."

I had no words. My thoughts had been of suicide but now they were…conflicted.

"I am yours." He was crying bloody tears; I, in turn, felt numb.

He pulled me, carefully, into his arms, lying beside me in me hospital bed. He pulled the bedsheet over the two of us.

"I will always love you." He kissed the top of my head.

"I'm broken." My first words breaking my silence.

"You are a warrior, my warrior. I regret that I was not there."

"Where were you?" My question coming out more meekly than I had intended.

"Victor strung me up with silver. I think he knew. Knew that you were gone. He wanted me to lose you."

"Asshole."

He chuckled.

"Yes, he is an asshole."

"Eric?"

"Yes, my lover."

I flinched involuntarily, "I'm sorry that I'm broken now."

He looked intently, passionately, into my eyes. "Lover, you are the strongest being I have met. You have survived. They sought to end you, and you have not let them. You are not broken. You are my imperfect perfection. I wish I could end all of your turmoil, your struggles."

He could. If I asked.

"Eric?"

"Yes, lover?"

"Turn me." My breath hitched in my throat. I had never wanted to live forever, but it would make me strong, make me whole.

"Once you are healed, I swear it."

I smiled then because I knew he was a man of his word.


End file.
